Happy Birthday John
by GravityWolf
Summary: Sadstuck John/Kat: It's been exactly three years, four months, and thirteen days since your boyfriend died. And today is (would have been) his birthday. This is the one place where you allow yourself to cry freely, soft wind pressing to your face and brushing your hair back like he was using his wind powers to caress your face. Oh how much you miss John Egbert.


You lay down on your side, eyes blearily with sleep and room filtered with a pale gray light of the rain outside your window that has made a soothing tap from the icy sprinkling droplets. You wipe your face to find it wet with drying tears, a hot sensation making you choke for air. You had the nightmare again.

The nightmare you've been having for a while now. You thought it had gone away for sure after you started taking those depression pills, but apparently, when in a really bad mood, your sleep was haunted with your terror-filled past. Slowly, drowsily, you climb from your bed, peeling back the covers that stuck to your overheated skin and stretched ungraciously. You're grateful that Sollux, your roommate for this lousy collage, was already out today at his job this morning because you HATE showing emotions in front of people.

You don't want to look weak. No. **_Never_**.

And that is what is causing you to be so weird, sometimes friendly, sometimes frustrated, and sometimes, on rare occasions, you have a breakdown where your friends have to calm you down. You **_HATE_** it when that happens. But, there is one day for the past three years where you do allow yourself to cry and curl into a ball, when you let people comfort you and hug you and mummer kind words to your ears.

That day happens to be today. Today happens to be your boyfriend's birthday. It is also the day he died.

Your IPhone is blinking repeatedly and you open it quietly even though you are the only one in the dorm right now on this silent Sunday.

**_19 UNREAD TEXTS_**

**_3 PHONE CALLS_**

**_5 EMAILS_**

Dear god. You skim the texts, recognizing the purple wavy text of your hipster friend Eridan Ampora to the teal, bubbly writing of your friend Terezi, to the blocky, bold red typing of that smartass Blondie Dave Strider. But the one that makes your heart flutter is what the flashy pink colored text of cheerleader, best friend Feferi Pexies.

_-c_**_uttlefishCuller_**_began pestering _**_carcinoGeneticist_**_at 6:20 am-_

**_CC: )(ey Karkat_**

**_CC: You're probably still sleeping but I just wanted to tell you that_**

**_CC: All of us will be gat)(erring at the Skaia park today_**

**_CC_**_: __**If you want to come, everyone would enjoy it**_

**_CC: The gat)(erring is at 3:14 pm_**

**_CC:_**_**)(ope to see you t)(ere**_

**_CC_**_: …_

**_CC: I'm sorry for your loss Karkat and )(ope you know that we all love and care for you_**

**_CC: And miss you_**

_-c_**_uttlefishCuller_**_ceased pestering _**_carcinoGeneticist_**_at 6:37 am-_

Slamming your fist into a table doesn't hurt as much when your crying blocks out all pain in your mind. You are starting to regret all the times you hid from public after what happened to John. You drifted away. You drifted away from society, away from people, away from grades and tests, away from family. Away from your friends that cared the world about you, but you ceased to acknowledge their presence anymore. You're really starting to regret that.

_No._

_You shield him behind your back with your lanky arms terror coursing through your veins. You want to run. You have the chance to. But you don't. You would never run away if John was in trouble. His hand is on your shoulder weakly, trembling visibly, and you hear him trying to convince you to go. He'll be fine. But the fact was, he WASN'T going to be fine. You're scared, but you love John Egbert, and you'd do anything for him._

_You are not going to run. _

_"It's going to be fine John. Everything is fine. Don't you worry, I got you."_

_You want to believe everything is alright. His blue eyes search your face, and you can see your reflection through his dorky glasses that you're crying. His smile is weak but bright and you try to grin back, but your heart just hurts as you stare at the flickering hospital machines around him. They freak you out a lot. Wind swirls around you, and you are surprised when you feel John's hand grip yours, his like fragile, breakable glass, yours strong and holding to him. Ignoring the pulsing lights of the heart-monitors and shiny metals of needles, ignoring how John's breaths are getting shallower, you kiss his forehead gently, and wrap an arm around him. He's so cold. So, so cold, like ice._

_You remember those nights where you watched silly rom-coms and horrid action movies like Con-Air and Ghostbusters. You remember how you would have popcorn fights and one of you would end up dumping the bowl over one another's heads, giggling like children. You remember the flutter you got when he texted you and when you sat at the park, holding hands. You remember when you went to the prom together and danced idiotically, but didn't give a shit. Your friends all had played match-maker in putting you two together. And you felt like you couldn't thank them enough. All of them would get together monthly and throw some awesome parties in which you and John had always enjoyed. Especially the one where truth-or-dare had forced you and Egbert to reveal your feelings and kiss. You still here the little 'aww!' everyone gave when you made out with your crush. How you would go to the carnival and act like a dopey love-sick couple, sharing cotton-candy and ice-cream, holding each other's hands while throwing a ring in the ring-toss game. Those were the moments you cherished. You had never though that you would ever feel love towards someone._

_Or that someone would love you back. How his midnight phone-calls every month would demand that you come to his dorm and insist that you stay with him until he felt better from a nightmare. How when you cried, he'd pet your hair and kiss you, and be there for you. He was always there for you. So you're promised you'd always be there for him. Even when he went into the hospital with cancer. You'd visit every day, but could not rid the fear from your chest that one day, he wouldn't be there._

_You insisted to your friends that he would get better, and they would smile and nod and occasionally come with you. That's usually when you had a breakdown. You feel the wind stop around you, a breeze not blowing you bangs to the side anymore. It's just stopped. His eyes are bleak, dimed, and nearly shut. The monitors have stopped. The world spins around you sickeningly._

_No._

_John. Fuck. No._

**_Don't._**

**_You._**

**_Fucking._**

**_Die._**

_But he's already gone, just like the wind, and just like your life. __**Gone**__._

_Dead._

**_Forever_**_._

It's been exactly three years, four months, and thirteen days since your boyfriend died.

And today is would have been his birthday. This is the one place where you allow yourself to cry freely, soft wind pressing to your face and brushing your hair back like he was using his wind powers to caress your face.

Oh how much you miss John Egbert, you can't find the words to say.

You lay down next to a rocky gravestone, nothing special, under the shade of a pretty willow, whose drapes swung in the breeze. You lay down the things you had been holding tightly in your hands, a white rose and a small, but meaningful picture of him and you and all your friends. John had an arm wrapped around you waist, your head on his shoulder. Tavros in his wheelchair with Gamzee at his side, grinning to your left, Eridan propped up on the your other side looking smug but happy. Terezi with her face smashed into Dave's, Rose and Kanaya curled into a loving hug, Jade and Nepeta giggling and with gleaming kitten-like eyes…just all of them. All of your friends, the ones you've been hiding from. And you regret all that. With tears in your eyes, you look at you watch which reads 2:46 pm.

**_"The gat)(erring is at 3:14 pm."_**

You may just have enough time to make it after all. You've missed them.


End file.
